


As You Wish

by angelofsymphonia



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Princess Bride Fusion, I Blame Tumblr, Inspired by Princess Bride, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22640431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelofsymphonia/pseuds/angelofsymphonia
Summary: Princess Bride AU -Prince Buttercup is what they called him throughout history, however Jaskier would always remember his true self in the summer nights he spent with his farm hand, the Witcher known as Geralt of Rivia.A story of dashing princes, magic and true love is what follows.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 24
Kudos: 134





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> So I feel like I should explain that this was all the fault of daughterofthanos' [post](https://daughtersofthanos.tumblr.com/post/190412966668/commissioned-piece-from-flurgburgler-who-is) on tumblr, about a Princess Bride AU. My favourite romcom with my favourite bois, and I word vomited this out when I really should be going to sleep.
> 
> If anyone notices any mistakes please let me know, no beta here we die like witchers!
> 
> Comments and concrit welcome! :) Trying not to make Geralt TOO OOC, so can't give him too many of Westley's antics.

A soft fire crackled, a shining beacon in an otherwise dark square. Around the courtyard, peasants were seen making merry, as in a quiet corner sat a trio, a little girl in the middle of two figures, eagerly asking them to regale her with her favourite story.

  
With a small laugh, one of the figures spoke in a light tone. “Okay, Ciri, we will tell you one more time, but afterwards you need to head home and straight to bed!”

  
The little girl nodded, her beautiful blond hair bouncing with her excitement.

  
“Well, I believe you know the beginning well enough, Jaskier was raised on a small farm…”

\------

…. A modest abode that he could use to freely roam the estate, and one that he loved to use as a setting to terrorise the farm’s serving hand, a Witcher whom had been indebted into servitude of Jaskier’s family for as long as the boy could remember.

  
The farmhand’s name was Geralt, though Jaskier did not deign to call him that. Nothing gave him as much pleasure as ordering Geralt around. “Witcher, polish my saddle, I wish to see my face shine in it.”

  
The Witcher nodded, averting his eyes as he grunted out to the noble, “As you wish.”

  
He made quick work of removing the saddle from the horse, leaning into Jaskier’s space as he did so, causing a small flush to grace his cheeks. With an indignant huff, Jaskier left the other man’s space, not missing the smirk that appeared on Geralt’s face of the laughter in his amber eyes.

  
His heart did not fail to skip a beat.

  
‘As you wish’ was all that the Witcher would say to him. His kind where usually people of few words, as Witchers were merely utility for common folk to rid them of the monsters in this world, however, Geralt was especially vexing. For the last few years since Jaskier had shed his adolescent years and become a young man, the older man had stopped speaking as frequently to him and instead would only respond with that accursed phrase.

  
“Witcher, fill these with water.” Jaskier pressed the water flasks into the man’s hands, looking up to him as he did.

  
Again, the man replied, “As you wish.”

  
It took Jaskier longer than he would like to admit, as a learned man, to decipher that between Geralt’s gruff demeanour and monosyllabic grunts of a singular phrase was that when Geralt was saying ‘As you wish’ to Jaskier, what he truly meant was ‘I love you’.

  
Furthermore, Jaskier was shocked to realise that he truly loved Geralt in return.

  
And once he knew the truth, he could longer stop the well of emotion from spilling forth from him.

  
“Witcher,” He breathed, one morning when he and Geralt were alone for the afternoon. They were within the small kitchen of the farmhouse, and Geralt had just deposited two large burlap sacks filled with wheat by the fire. His body and pure white hair glistened in the morning sun.

  
Scrambling for anything to keep his beloved from leaving, Jaskier spied water far too close to his own self to be anything but a desperate plea for attention. “Hand me that pitcher.”

  
With a smirk, Geralt approached the younger man, leaning into his personal space far too entirely as he murmured almost against Jaskier’s lips, “As you wish.”

\------

With a small embarrassed squeal, Ciri clamped her hands over her eyes. “No kissing bits! You know I hate those!”

  
With a small chuckle, the storyteller continued, “Alright, alright! But one day you might come to like them! Now, let me continue!”

\------

Geralt had no money to his name and knew that he could not provide for Jaskier with their life as it was. Also, with no Witcher around to fend of the monsters while Geralt worked to repay his debts to Jaskier’s family, the land about them had fallen into torment.

  
This is what lead Geralt to pursue his fortune re-taking up his mantle of Witcher, travelling across the land to build a fortune so he may be deserving of Jaskier’s affections, and that he may be able to provide of him.

  
It was a very emotional time for Jaskier.  
“I fear I’ll never see you again.” Jaskier sobbed, fisting handfuls of Geralt’s simple white tunic. He clutched it to himself and tried to remember the very shape of his lover.

  
“You will.” Geralt sighed, bringing the young bard into his arms and taking one more moment of comfort from his love.

  
“Know this.” He breathed into Jaskier’s ear; his voice gentler than the young man had ever heard. “I will always come for you.”

  
“How can you know?” Jaskier asked, breath ghosting over Geralt’s neck before finally the White Wolf finally began to pull away.

  
Without saying anything further, Geralt unlaced the pendant he always wore close to his heart, and carefully placed it in the brunette’s hand, using his own hands to close Jaskier’s around it. He placed one more kiss to the back of the other’s now clenched hand, before finally pulling away entirely and making his departure.

  
Jaskier watched him disappear upon the horizon, and only when Geralt’s figure disappeared beyond the distant trees did Jaskier fall to his knees and weep, tightly clutching the pendant to him.

\------

Geralt did not return. News reached Jaskier that Geralt was attacked by the dread Butcher of Blaviken before he could make his fortunes, and Jaskier knew too many tales of those who had met their fate at the end of his sword to have any hope that his beloved might have possibly survived.

  
He shut the door to his rooms, and neither slept nor ate for days, savagely attacking his pillows through his blurred tear-hazed vision.

  
Late at night, when his sorrow had been spent and the ache of desolation was all that he could muster, Jaskier vowed:

  
“I will never love again.”


	2. The Announcement

Five years passed in the blink of an eye, and Jaskier did not regain his once jovial nature. He was left to drown in the depth of his feelings and, true to his vow, did not love any other person - man or woman. Every passing day he mourned his lost love, and grew despondent to anything.

He paid no notice when enquiries were made to his family regarding him, nor did he care when he received a summons to the royal palace to meet with the King and Queen of Nilfgaard. Once, when he was less jaded, he may have jumped for joy at the chance to meet royalty, and to regale them with his bardic charms.

Instead he sat, polite but unengaged, as discussions were held between his family and the royals, the Nilgaardian Prince, Lord Peregrine. The man, if he could even be called such a thing, was a weaselly excuse of a royal and conniving to boot. His smile to Jaskier at that dinner was more of a sneer than anything of genuine interest or affection, however words such as strengthening the capitol and union were thrown about by all around the table.

So it was to be marriage, Jaskier distantly wondered. So be it. He would be paraded about like a prize cow for the kingdom, ' _a commoner marrying a Prince, what a lovely story_ ' they would say, praising the kingdom for choosing the finest consort that the bordering villages may offer.

And oh, did they celebrate. The day of the announcement nobles and peasants alike gathered in the castle grounds, Prince Peregrine approached the elevated balcony overlooking the masses and with a grand sweeping gesture began his address: "My people! A month from now our great nation will celebrate its 500th anniversary! And on that sundown, I will take a consort who was once a commoner like yourselves."

At this, Peregrine let out a small chuckle inaudible to the crowds below, as though amused by his own thoughts.

"... Perhaps you will not find him so _common_ now."

The crowds applauded and hurrahed, many shouts could be heard asking the prince to reveal who his consort would be.

After a pause, the prince held his hand up to the crowds who immediately silenced. Again with an overly confident smirk, the prince called, "Would you like to meet him?"

The smug question was answered with another roar from the crowd, almost deafening this time. The chants of ' _Yesssss_ ' boomed like summer thunder.

Trumpets begin a joyous tune, as the crowds attention was drawn to a door opening at their level, people clambering other one another to see the figure in all his resplendence.

"My people, the Prince Consort _Buttercup_!" Was announced over the excitement, as finally Jaskier stepped forward from the protection of the shadows around him.

The crowds, with no prompting or order, fell to a calm silence, and all began to do a strange thing indeed...

With no instruction, lords and commoners alike fell to their knees, bowing low for the Prince Consort.

Jaskier stood frozen, bearing witness as masses of people bowed down to him, a commoner. Even dressed in his fine velvet clothing, the vivid gold detailing threaded through the rich green patterned fabric, he felt overwhelmed. Clasped around his shoulders was a sheer floor length cape, delicately inlaid with small jewels that glimmered with any movement no matter how small, and though the thing was practically weightless, it felt like heavy lead choking down on him, holding him from moving.

His eyes filled with tears as he looked about the square, not a single person now standing. All these people had joined to welcome him to their lands and their hearts, but still Jaskier's emptiness consumed him. 

The law of the land gave Peregrine the right to choose his consort, but Jaskier did not love him.

With a small wave of his hand, the young bard slowly turned and disappeared once more down the dark corridor, his polished custom made boots echoing through the empty space with every step he took, the click of his heels accompanied by a lone tear as the Prince Consort returned to his solitary rooms.

\------

Despite Peregrine's reassurance that Jaskier would grow to love him, the only joy the boy found was riding out through the forest into the uninhabited glen on the outskirts of Nilgaard, taking his beloved Geralt's horse Roach with him, and sitting with his worn lute on a cut stump he had found there.

The forest was the one place Jaskier could find peace from the maelstrom of dangerous thoughts that plagued him, his music a comfort and curse against his heart as it brought his thoughts back to his lost love, and the fleeting time they had together.

Many a dirge had been strummed in the quiet grove, and today seemed no difference to Jaskier as his fingers moved sluggishly about his lute, a mournful, somber tune filtering through the trees.

Jaskier was so lost in his thoughts that the brunette failed to note that he was no longer alone, or rather had never truly been. Before long, three figures appeared from behind the brush scattered about the enclosure, flanking the unaware Prince Consort.

"A word, my lord?"

Ceasing his half hearted playing, Jaskier finally took note of his unknowing audience. Turning, he took in the three figures before him. Two men and a woman.

The men were of varying heights, one a towering hulk of a man, with a shorn head and a large stomach. He was clothed in bright colours, and lingered behind the rest of the trio. Also off to the side was the woman, a young looking beauty with wild brown locks, just grazing her petite shoulders. She looked quite slight, but carried herself with a strength that made Jaskier feel wary.

Drawing up the front was an average sized man with tanned skin, his dark hair scraped away from his face, with a well groomed moustache and goatee prevalent on an otherwise forgettable face. He was dressed the most finely out of all of them, and it was obvious to any onlooker that he was the leader of the troupe.

With a flourish he bowed, speaking in a silver-tongued tone, "We are but poor, lost circus performers. Is there a village nearby?"

Looking beyond them, Jaskier could see the Great Sea at a close distance. It was an odd place to make dock, as the nearest port was half a days travel in good wind.

"There is nothing nearby," He replies to the leader, eyeing the man suspiciously, speaking slowly. "Not for miles."

Unfortunately, with his attention on the man addressing him, he failed to see the giant man move behind him.

The last thing he heard before he felt a soft pinch to his neck and he succumbed to darkness was the rather unnecessary: "Then there will be no-one here to hear you scream."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your lovely comments! It makes me happy people are enjoying this, I'm really enjoying writing it!!!! :) Will try and keep updates quite regular, can't guarantee they will be quite as regular as this but I will try and keep a pace :)
> 
> Also, I am picturing Jaskier's outfit at his presentation to be something like [this](https://i.pinimg.com/474x/11/f8/81/11f8815164bc1dd8689be9ecd6dcf563.jpg) and [this](https://i.etsystatic.com/10748382/c/2000/2000/0/0/il/15fea8/1345503320/il_300x300.1345503320_rxu4.jpg) for the cape, but less galaxy and more glittery. 
> 
> Again, comments and love are most welcome :D Hope you guys enjoyed!


	3. The Captive

As Jaskier's unconscious form slumped against him, Sigismund Dijkstr grabbed the small form and hoisted him up over his shoulder. Looking to his leader, Vilgefortz of Roggeveen, for guidance from now, he watched as the man took a jacket from his satchel, swiftly tearing a strip of it and stuffing it in the Prince Consort's saddlebag.

  
"What's that your ripping?" The girl, Renfri of Creyden, asked. She, like Sigismund, had been hired by Vilgefortz to accompany him in kidnapping Nigaard's newest noble. They had crossed the Great Sea from the nearest port to Creyden, and still barely knew a thing about their benefactor; he had not divulged his motivation nor plan regarding the boy in Sig's arms, only that it was imperative for them to be paid that they assist with his capture.

  
Not even deigning to look back, Vilgefortz snapped as thought it should be obvious, "It's the uniform of an Army officer of Cintra."

  
"What is Cintra?" He asked, looking to Renfri and receiving a small shrug. She didn't talk much, so the large man didn't know whether to take this as a shrug of confusion for or against his question. Either way, Vilgefortz scoffed.

  
The man finally whirled around, pointing a vague north from their location.

  
"The kingdom to the north of here, Nilfgaard's sworn enemy!" And with a flourish of his hand, the man slapped the Consort's horse, muttering a small, forceful command of ' _go_ ' to the animal before ushering his companions to their prepared boat.

  
Hoisting his unconscious charge to a more secure position, Sigismund made his way forward to the vessel.

  
As they travelled back, Vilgefortz began to divulge his cunning plan, chuckling at his own brilliance as he did. 

  
"Once the horse reaches the castle, the fabrics will make the Prince suspect the Cintrans have abducted his love. When he finds the boy's cold dead body on the Cintrab frontier, his suspicions will be totally confirmed!" 

  
If one could verbally pat themselves on the back, it was obvious to all that's what their esteemed leader was thinking. Renfri shared a look with him as they boarded the boat, both a little disbelieving of his words.

  
"You never said anything about taking innocent lives." Sig spoke up, looking up from where he was fastening the restraints around their captive. "I don't think it's right, killing an innocent…"

  
Vilgefortz' response was a sharp sardonic laugh, "Am I going mad or did the word _think_ just escape you lips? You weren't hired for your brains, you hippopotamic land mass!"

  
At this, Renfri too piped up. "I agree with Sigismund."

  
Scoffing, the smaller man turned to address both of the party, near venomous at this point. "I hired both of you to start a war, and I will do so _by any means necessary_!"

  
To punctuate his point further, Vilgefortz brought a suddenly glowing hand down to his side, a static crackle that Sigismund and Renfri both recognised as magic shooting from his hand and travelling into the depths of the sea.

  
With a cutting look, the mage advanced on Sigismund, standing before him in a mockery of an intimidation, considering their sheet size difference. Still, Vilgefortz tried. 

  
"When I met you, you were so slobbering drunk that you couldn't even order your own brandy! And _you_!" He turned to Renfri, pointing a finger as he stepped closer, "don't forget who saved you from the fate your family left you to! It was I who slew the man attacking you before he could do any harm unto you."

  
With a flinch, Renfri averted her eyes and looked out towards the crashing waves around them. It was true that Vilgefortz had saved her when she was but a child, and for that she was indebted to him. Had the monster been able to touch her, she did not believe her sanity would have survived the attack.

  
The mage glares at them both, before storming into the small cabin the boat held, leaving the remaining duo to hoist the anchor and set a course for Cintra.

  
Sigismund lay a large hand on Renfri's slight shoulder, giving a small reassuring squeeze. "He likes to yell at us."

  
\------

  
The boat sailed through the near black waters, as Renfri stood calmly at the helm and felt the wind whip through her hair. After Creyden she had quickly picked up how to sail, a skill -much like her sword skills- that was entirely self taught, but one she felt she had a natural affinity towards.

  
Sails at full mast, the boat cut through the waves at an incredible speed, it was freeing, really, and she could almost forget that they were on their way to kill someone and start a war because of it.

  
She shot a look towards Sigismund was watching over the Consort's prone form, waiting to see if he would open his eyes, and swearing under his breath that he swore Prince Buttercup's eyes had flickered. 

  
(Vilgefortz had yet to leave the small cabin, though she could hear him rustling around and getting ready to join them once more)

  
The waves rose higher the further they travelled, and the darkness stretched on, the only reprieve from the blackness were the rare flashes of the moon's light when it saw fit to shine through the dense coverage of the clouds.

  
The cabin door creaked open as Vilgefortz stepped out, a map clutched in his hand. "We will reach the cliffs of Cintra by dawn."

Renfri's attention, however, was no longer on the mage, and in fact she hadn't even truly acknowledged his entrance. Her eyes were trained on the horizon, deep in the distance beyond where the untrained eye could see.

It took a few moments for Vilgefortz to take notice. He frowned, asking, "Why are you doing that?"

  
"I'm making sure we aren't being followed…" Renfri answered, however her eyes did not stray from scanning the darkness surrounding them.

"That would be _inconceivable_!" Vilgefortz huffed, ignoring the woman and moving down the ship.

No-one had noticed yet that their charge had long since been awake, listening to their conversation and biding his time, waiting for an opportunity where he may be able to make his escape.

Hearing that the ship could be possibly being followed gave Jaskier the confidence to address the group before him. He opened his eyes and dragged himself to a sitting position, "Despite your arrogance in believing otherwise, you will be caught. And when you are, the Prince will see the three of you hanged."

Vilgefortz sent a cold glare his way, leaning down to hiss at the bard through gritted teeth, "Of all the necks on this boat, Highness, the one you should be worried about is your own."

Movement quickly turned his attention away from the Prince Consort, the mage's eyes tracking as Renfri moved to look behind her again.

"There is no-one following us, _wench_! Cease that annoying movement!" He moved to her, pulling her head to face him, practically spitting at her, "I told you, it would be absolutely incomprehensible for anyone to be following us. Nobody is Cintra knows what we've done. No-one in Nilfgaard could have gotten to us so fast. Now, why are you so insistent, hmm?"

He let go of her face, watching as Renfri flexed her jaw a tiny bit, because shrugging, "I looked behind us and there's someone there."

" _What!?_ " 

Vilgefortz ran to the back of their vessel, disbelieving of such a thing. Sigismund and Renfri both moved to join him at the back of the boat.

The hard to see anything in the blackness beyond, the moon had long since hidden behind the cover of a large cloud. The wind around them whistles loudly, whipping about their hair and making it even more tricky to spot anything.

Bought could be heard but the waves pounding desperately against their boat, and the howl of the night, casting an ominous atmosphere about them.

The trio desperately try to see behind them, awaiting the much needed guidance of the moon to illuminate their suspicions… And there! Moonrays slipped through the clouds and, like a spotlight, and revealed that Renfri was indeed correct.

Something was very much there.

A sailboat, black, with a great billowing sail of the same colour. It was a good distance away, but they could clearly see that the unknown vessel was cutting through the waves as though they were calm, sailing like hell itself were at the stern; it was rapidly gaining upon them.

" **Fuck**."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave Renfri a less fucked up past, so she is more of a protagonist then enemy. I feel like not being abused would make her a lot less pissed off with the world to be honest.
> 
> Sigismund also does exist in the Witcher, just not in the TV series, so if you wanna find out more about him you can Google him :)


	4. The Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope this is good for you guys! Thoughts and comments again appreciated!!!

Cursing to him, Vilgefortz began to wonder if there was any spell he had prepared in his travels that could slow the ship or alter its course. Both Sigismund and Renfri had their eyes trained on it, no-one sparing a glance towards their hostage until a loud splash alerted them that something else may be amiss.

Whirling around towards the source of the sound, the trio noted first the pile of ropes on the ship's deck where Jaskier once sat. 

Hastening to the side of the boat, Vilgefortz swiftly spotted the Prince Consort swimming away from the boat as fast as he could manage in the icy, raging waters. Frantic, Vilgefortz screamed to his companions, "Go in, _get after him_!!"

His accomplices both stared at him, before shaking their heads. Neither of them could swim.

" **Veer left**!' he screamed at them, watching Renfri promptly take position at the ship's wheel and deftly steer the boat to circle back round towards Jaskier.

The boy had made it an impressive distance, Vilgefortz would give him that. However, his frozen muscles were obviously failing him, and as he swam further the brunette suddenly paused in the water. 

A terrible screeching began from the depths, getting louder and louder the more their captive moved. Ah, the mage thought, they're here.

With a smug smile, Vilgefortz leaned over the side of the boat, shouting over the crashing waves, "Do you know what that sound is, Highness?

Those are the Shrieking Eels of Aretuza, once powerful conduits for past witches, however once they reach their usefulness they are cast out into the depths to feast on the meat of wayward sailors!

If you doubt me, just wait…. They always grow louder when they're about to feed on  _ human flesh! _ "

The soon to be royal was treading water, not too far now from the boat. The shrieking was getting louder, and Jaskier could see the glow of the creatures moving far too close to him. Still, he doesn't say a word to his captors, attempting to remain brave in the face of his impending death.

"Swim back now," Vilgefortz called to him, "and I promise you, no harm will come to you... I _doubt_ you will get such an offer from the eels."

The harsh cries of the creatures grew louder still, unbearable at this point to Jaskier, but still he didn't make a sound. Behind his left shoulder he could feel the water part as a mass - dark and gigantic - slithers past him. He can see the glow of many more bodies in the inky depths below him.

He's scared, sure, petrified. Who wouldn't be? But still, he makes no move to reply to the mage.

Jaskier's eyes squeezed shut as he spotted an eel open it's wide maw, rapidly zeroing in on him, only a short distance away and starting to close. The creature has never made such a noise.

Jaskier is frozen, trying not to make movement of any kind but still stay afloat, the eel slithers closer, closer - Jaskier knows it now, there's  _ nothing _ he can do, it's over, it's all over, the eel is about to clamp down-

  
  


\------

"He doesn't get eaten, Ciri, you know he doesn't." The narrator pauses, taking a moment to place a comforting hand on the golden head that had buried itself into the storyteller's shoulder. They smiled down as blue eyes peered up at them, a small laugh escaping them. "You always get scared at this bit, but you know how it goes."

Ciri composes herself enough to stick her tongue out, prodding her companion to continue on with the story. 

And with a dramatic sigh, they do just that.

  
  


\------

  
  


A meaty hand slams down on the minister's head, knocking it away from our wayward prince. Sigismund grunts as a static charge stings through his hand, shaking it briefly before roughly fishing the waterlogged young man from the sea as though he were weightless.

He vaguely heard Vilgefortz' instructions to put the Prince Consort down, as he was already doing just that.

Letting out a sharp cough, dazed and disoriented, Jaskier didn't even struggle as the mage retied the restraints around his wrists, making sure they were truly secure this time.

In all the excitement, Renfri had been keeping a watchful eye on the ship on the horizon, as everyone else seemed to forget it's existence.

"I think they're getting closer." She spoke, calmly, after everything had quietened a bit.

"He's of no concern of ours," Vilgefortz snapped once more, "Sail on!"

Leaning down once more to Jaskier's level, he gripped the brunette's chin roughly and forced eye contact between them. With a sardonic look, he drawled, "I suppose you think you're  _ brave _ don't you?"

Lifeless blue eyes bore into his, and were the mage a less arrogant man he would have been intimidated. Though the gaze was nearly soulless, there was a fire somewhere in their depths, hidden like the secrets of the sea they so resembled.

"Only compared to some." Jaskier responded, jerking his chin from the iron grip it was being held in.

They sailed until dawn, Renfri attempting to make quick work of the difficult waves and constantly keeping an eye on the black ship behind them.

By the time the sun kissed the horizon, there was so little distance between themselves and their pursuer that they could discern the ship behind them was being steered by the form of a man, dressed entirely in plain black garb.

His boat almost seemed to be gliding across the morning tide, as he had nearly closed the gap between them.

"He's right on top of us!" Renfri growled, frustrated she could not outrun one man with her own sailing merits, "It's as though he's sailing on different winds to us!"

Snorting at her frustration, Vilgefortz waved her statement off.

"It matters not! Whoever he is, he's already too late, see?" He pointed his gloved hand ahead of him, his frustration driving him to hysteria as he shouted, "the Cliffs of Insanity!"

And sure enough as though summoned by his mention, the cliff's face loomed down upon them. The landmarks rose up, sheer from the water and impossibly high. Renfri began to prepare the boat for mooring as it entered the shadows of the cliffs, trying desperately to outpace the boatsman who was closer than ever.

The pursuit carried on at a brutal pace, Sigismund slinging Jaskier over his shoulder, despite the bard's protests, sprinting to outrun the man in black. Thankfully, their lead was too great for even the man's nimble work to overcome.

"Come along!" Vilgefortz growled, taking a length of thick rope out of his satchel as they ran to the cliff edge, hands glowing with magic as the rope twisted its way like a serpent up the jagged rocks, fastening itself tightly around the steady root of a tree that the trio could just make out in the distance.

With a sharp command of "Move!" the mage began climbing, not looking to see if his comrades were following as he climbed his way to safety.

Sharing a quick shrug and a mutual look of exasperation, Sigismund and then Renfri began to the rope, Sigismund (literally) shouldering Jaskier's weight with relative ease.

  
  


\------

Glancing over the shoulder of his captor, Jaskier watched in terror as the shoreline became a distant speck, clutching right at the giant man carrying him and involuntarily letting out a small fearful whimper as the wind picked up as they climbed ever higher.

  
  


Looking down at the sheer drop below, he couldn't help but feel like corned prey, caught in the last moments before it's inevitable death.

Even the black figure approaching did nothing to comfort his dread. For who was he that was chasing them down? Jaskier did not know any but the Prince who would see fit to rescue him, and even then he would be surprised if Peregrine had the balls to. It rather felt like different packs of wolves all circling the same wounded deer.

His would be saviour is at the shore now, making quicker work of reaching the bottom of the cliff than the party of three did. Jaskier suspected this had something to do with their  _ cargo _ weighing them down.

He was at their rope in no time, and wasted no time contemplating before he too started to climb. He was impossibly far behind them, though you would think, perhaps, that he did not know this, as Jaskier watched him. The way he was going it was as though he was flying up the rope, hand over hand like lightning.

"He's climbing the rope!" The woman shouted up from below them, alerting the leader, Vilgefortz. "And he's gaining on us!"

They all heard the leader curse, quickening his pace without a care for how unfathomably high they currently were. Jaskier felt sick when his carrier, Sigismund began to match the other man's pace, moving quicker up the cliff. The man in black was cutting deeply into the lead that the trio had, and only seemed to be speeding up as he continued roaring up the rope. At this point there was nary a hundred feet between them…

Jaskier was so invested in watching the figure's movements, it was a moment of sickening inertia for him when he was slung up onto the top ledge of the cliff, skidding onto the safety of the ruins of a stone castle. Vilgefortz was at the top, taking deep gasps of air, and was joined by both Sigismund and Renfri who were both equally winded.

The three of them peered over the verge, looking down with alarm at the man in black, barely twenty feet from the top of the cliff now.

"Inconceivable!" Vilgefortz huffed, moving over to the tree that the rope had been magically tied to. 

"Well let's see how he fairs with this!" With a maniacal laugh, the mage flicked his hand in a sharp movement, the rope glowing faintly before finally coming loose.

Jaskier watched in horror as the rope hung in the air for a moment, then finally dropped, no doubt taking the mysterious man with it.

He heard two startled gasps from the duo still watching the man, confirming his suspicions.


	5. The Woman

Silence rang throughout the grove, the crashing of the waves below the only noise to be heard.

It was Sigismund that spoke first, addressing Renfri who he was still crouched next to.

"He has very good arms." He spoke, cryptic to Jaskier as it seemed odd to talk of a deadman in such a positive, present tense. There was no way their pursuer had survived, surely?

Scooting to the cliff's edge, Jaskier peered down the sheer drop. He almost jumped in surprise when he saw the figure hanging, suspended a hundred feet in the air. The man was clinging the the rock face, muscles working strenuously to grip to the jagged stone.

Jaskier yelped in pain as he was pulled back roughly by Vilgefortz, the man tugging him forcefully by the hair. A band of fabric was hastily used to cover his eyes, panic setting in as Jaskier's world was plunged into darkness.

He could hear Vilgefortz' hiss by his ear, "He didn't fall!? _Inconceivable_!"

Renfri's voice had notable sarcasm as she shot: "You keep using that word - I don't think it means what you think it means…"

She was still peering over the cliff face, watching the man like a hawk. She let out a small disbelieving laugh, never taking her eyes off the figure. "He's climbing."

The ringleader was getting frantic now, yanking the captive to his feet and scrabbling to start away from the edge, heading inland as fast as possible.

He grabbed Renfri by the collar, hissing hurriedly to her, "Whoever he is, he's seen us with Prince Buttercup, and therefore must die."

He all but threw Jaskier to Sigismund, with a quick 'You! Carry him!' then paced ahead, addressing Renfri once more, "We'll head to the Cintra frontier, catch up when he's dead. If he falls, fine. If not, run him through with your sword."

Renfri nodded in understanding, she was fully aware this is what she was paid for. However, who was Vilgefortz to deny her a little fun?

"I'm using my left hand, if he makes it up."

The mage scoffed, clearly agitated. "You know what a hurry we're in!"

"It's the only way I'll be satisfied.." She replied, rolling her shoulder and beginning to stretch in preparation. "If I use my right hand, it'll be over too quickly."

At this point Vilgefortz just seemed disenchanted by the whole conversation, pinching the bridge of his nose to emphasize his irritation.

" _Fine_ ," He bit out, waving his hand towards her in a dismissive motion, "have it your way."

He turned and began walking, as did Sigismund with his cargo. The giant man spared one small box to Renfri, an act of solidarity between the unlikely friends, before heading off after Vilgefortz.

The road before them looked rocky, a vast mix of green lush grass and massive slabs of stones dispersed about them. The landscape seemed to go on for aeons, the grass kissing the horizon for as far as Sigismund could see between the large formations.

Vilgefortz seemed to know the way for safe passage, as everywhere he turned seem to lead to steady paths in an unsteady setting. Their feet crunched as the path changed from sand to pebble, and he couldn't help but wonder how far they were from the borders of Cintra's stronghold, where their leader wanted to accomplish his mission.

He spared a quick look to the young man before him, as the terrain had become more uneven Prince Buttercup had to be set down and lead blindly by Sigismund. The boy looked nary a day over twenty summers, the giant thought wistfully. It was a shame for such a young innocent to get caught up in all this violence… And the price to pay was indeed great.

With a sad sigh Sigismund gently guided the boy farther away from the cliff's edge, wondering all the while if it would be too bad if his charge was saved.

  
  


\------

  
  


Morning was beginning to settle in at a frightening pace, the dawn rays quickly filtering through the overcast sky as Renfri waited for her unwitting foe. She had long since completed her muscles stretches, and had quickly grown bored with watching the clouds overhead and identifying shapes within them.

It was with a bored sigh that she eventually shuffled to the edge of the cliff, crawling over on her belly and shouting down the sheer drop. "How long do you think you'll be?"

It's the first time she's addressed the man, and the first in a while that she's laid eyes on him as he climbed. He's made impressive ground, nearing the top of the mountain, but still a distance to go.

She guessed the cold look she received in response to her question may have been from the bluntness she'd posed it with. Still, she received the Man in Black's responding hiss through his gritted teeth, "This is not as easy as it looks."

And it was true. It was instant death if the Man In Black fell, but neither Renfri or the man himself seemed to give that possibility much credence.

The man let out a rough grunt as he hauled himself up once more, his tired muscles glistening in the morning sun with perspiration, straining against him as he elevated himself another stride.

The girl flipped over onto her back, vaulting herself up and pacing a small line near the edge, contemplating her next choices. She could let the fates decide if the man below fell to his demise through the eventual protest of his own fatigued body, or she could help the man and have a worthwhile if short lived battle with the no doubt subpar at best swordsman.

Not a tricky decision, truly, Renfri was always one for a bit of fun.

Again, she leaned down to the man.

"I have a rope up here, I can toss it down so you may climb it. However, I will warn you that I am only waiting to kill you." She punctuated her sentence with a small shrug, not really caring I'd the man could see it or not.

His response was quick, a long sarcastic drawl in that deep voice of his. "That does put a damper on our relationship."

The line was delivered with almost no humour, so Renfri was left unsure as she fasted her rope to the tree tightly, and eventually dangled it down to the Man in Black.

"I give you my word as a woman of Creyden, no harm will come to you until you have reached the top."

That shocked a laugh from the exhausted man, and with a cutting tone he replied:

"No good.... I've known too many people from Creyden."

He was still trying to map out his footing for his next push upward, even with the rope dangling tantalisingly in front of him, like a carrot to a starving horse.

Kneeling down to him, Renfri rested one hand on her heart, and the other on the hilt if her blade.

"I promise you on the soul of my father, Fredefalk, you will reach the top alive."

Silence rang through the space, even the wind seemed too shocked to speak up. Nothing moved, both the woman and man staring at each other. The man gave no tell for if he recognised the name Renfri had spoken, however after another long beat of silence he wordlessly grasped the rope, hauling himself up at an impressive pace.

Once he had reached the top, clearly exhausted, Renfri gestured to a large flat rock, silently offering the man a respite. 

There truly was no fun in an easy win.

As the man in black collapsed to the offered seat, Renfri took the time to study him. What she could see of him, anyway. The man wore simple garb, a plain black loose shirt that revealed a fair amount of his muscular chest, and tight black trousers, covered at the ankle by black boots.

The oddest part of his outfit was by far the black mask covering half of his face. Up close now, Renfri could see a small sheer gauze covering the eyes, keeping them obscured from her view thanks to the darkness provided by the mask. Presumably, this still permitted the man his vision through the light fabric.

It was all very curious, and had Renfri feeling weary as she gazed upon him. He had no tells about him that may show his identity.

"Before we begin," she addressed him, looking down to his hand, "may I know if you by any chance have a star shaped scar upon your left hand?"

Though the fabric covered it, Renfri had no mount the man was raising his eyebrow in puzzlement through the thick cloth if his mask. Still, he took off one of the thick black leather gloves he was wearing, showing the woman his unmarred left hand.

Feeling his silent question, she continued on in explanation: "My family was slaughtered by a crazed wizard by the name of Stregobor. He had told the people of my land that I was an evil that needed to be buried, that I would plague the lands and bring the end times upon us.

I was born under a Black sun, and he saw this as reason to believe this inane prophecy... I managed to escape my fate with the aid of Vilgefortz and I scarred Stregobor in the process. Now I have vowed to hunt and destroy the man who killed my father."

Her story inspired a grunt from the man before her, and a small shrug of what seemed to be approval. "How old were you?" He eventually asked.

"I was eleven years old." The man nodded, a solemn look on his face. Renfri didn't know why, but she found herself divulging further. "After that day I studied the art of swordplay, so that next time we meet I may run him through swiftly, no parlour tricks to aid his escape. I will walk to him and avenge my legacy."

With a stretch the man finally stood, nodding minutely at Renfri's take, showing he was listening even though he seemed a man of few words. She could relate, she was not one to mince words, especially when there was a battle at hand.

Obviously the Man in Black thought he had partook in adequate rest, standing before her and moving his hand to rest on one of his two blades.

Renfri did the same, giving the man a small nod, readying herself like a viper preparing to strike.

" _Begin_!"

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, sorry this one took a little while longer! I've been super busy, so many birthdays and stuff in Feb so will be aiming more for weekly updates!
> 
> This chapter is slightly longer so hopefully that makes up for it! Hope you enjoy! Comments are welcome! (Also let me know if there's any stupid mistakes typed this one on my phone 0.0;;;;;)


	6. The Swordsman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, really sorry that this has taken so long... There's been a death in my family and I really haven't been up to writing, life has just sort of gotten in the way a bit....
> 
> I'm so sorry if this isn't that great, I haven't had time to beta it! Comments and crit always welcome!

The harsh flurry of blows that followed Renfri's shout rang out through the stone clearing, the metal singing in the cool morning air.

It was a peculiar dance they began, and Renfri was delighted to realise the Man in Black had amazing skill. His style was most unusual, also, as though something was amiss with the way he answered her barrage. 

Each time she made even the tiniest feint, he was there to counter it. It was a game of give and take, Renfri pushing her opponent back with her savage strikes, the man parrying and pushing her in turn.

They moved about the opening, their fight bringing them to the open terrain of the ruins of a castle long since forgotten, only a few rising stairwells and jagged structures left in the place.

  
  
The man pushed Renfri back, forcing her up the crumbling structure of stones stairs. Twisting, she parried his perfectly timed strike and went immediately on the offensive, refusing to be backed into a corner. With a feline grace, her opponent jumped from the ledge and rolled to the dusty clearing overlooked by the stair well, dust clinging to the dark fabric of his clothing, highlighting where he had landed.

With a small huff, she leapt down to meet him.

They took a moment to regard each other. It was obvious to any bystander that they were both incredibly talented, and the way that they circled one another was calculated, neither giving an opening.

Raising her sword, Renfri attacked once more. They flew across the rocky terrain, both able to keep balance and neither coming close to stumbling. 

The battle raged on with incredible finesse, and Renfri could only pause for but a moment to ponder that this way have been her finest battle yet, the push and pull so equal between them, one gaining advantage only for the other to respond in kind.

Finally, the man forced Renfri towards the cliff's edge, edging her closer and closer until there was nary two footsteps between her and her certain demise.

"I admit, you are better than me…" Renfri spoke, her voice still holding a cockiness that gave the man pause. If she could see his face, Renfri would wager that the man's eyebrow was raised.

The man's gruff voice held question in his statement as he intoned, "You're smiling."

With a smirk, Renfri explained. "I know something you do not."

At the man's quiet 'what?', she threw her sword from one hand to the other with a flourish.

"I am not left-handed." 

She caught a second wind, pressing back against the man for their second violent dance. Again, they soared across the stone, both ignoring their protesting muscles and the sweat and dirt clinging to them.

She could see the man was panicking a little, trying to calculate her next moves. Gratification wound it's way into her being, and Renfri couldn't help but feel that perhaps this battle would soon be won.

They find themselves twisting up a rocky staircase to a turret shaped plateau, and the Man in Black retreated like mad up the steps. The man was in a frenzy, blocking her savage blows, making every feint and trying every thrust. Nothing seemed to get through her defenses and she cornered him against a large broken stone pillar. 

And yet, the man did not seem particularly flustered. In fact, a wide smirk seemed to be gracing his sharp features from what she could see of his lower face, his eyes still hidden from her by the mask's thin gauze eye covers.

She looked at him in frustration,b now paused in their movement as he drawled, "There's something I must tell you."

At this, she extended her sword towards his neck, not pressing against it but a clear warning. "What?" She asks, becoming more irritable with the mystery of it all.

"I'm not left-handed, either." And he, too, seamlessly switched his sword from his left to right, breaking the abnehman and pushing Renfri back once more.

And to her amazement, Renfri found she was forced down the steps. She tried one sword style, before frantically moving to another but it all came back to a startling realisation - the Man in Black was constantly in control. 

Before she could comprehend, her sword was chased from her grasp, knocked out of her hold with ease.

Admitting defeat, Renfri raised her hands in surrender as the man's blade kissed her neck, the cool metal resting on her feverishly hot skin.

"Who are you?" She spat, though she couldn't quite halt the awe and respect that entered her tone.

With a small smirk, her opponent made a show of sheathing his sword, and starting to move down the stairs. He called over his shoulder, "No-one of consequence."

With a noise of frustration, Renfri scrambled after him, grabbing her sword from the ground and pointing it at the man's broad back.

"I must know." She demanded, jabbing him lightly through the thin cloth of his tunic.

The man looked back, through the gauze mask. His face pulled down in a frown. "Get used to disappointment." 

The man moved like lightning, finally pulling free a second sword with his first, readying himself once more for battle.

He was coiled like a viper, ready to strike. And it became very apparent to Renfri in that moment that the man had yet to even show her his true power. This stance came as naturally to him as a babe's first intake of breath.

They danced once more. Something terrible was written behind Renfri's eyes as she parried and thrust her word with a feral desperation. She had given it her all, done everything to match the man and then some, she had attempted every fighting style in her repertoire and still, it wasn't enough…

She was going to lose.

  
The man moved in, his face grim in concentration as he moved to end the battle, blocking every blow she tried. She knew it was coming, yet still let a startled gasps tumble from her as he disarmed her once more, her sword sent soaring through the sky.

Renfri stood helpless for only a moment, before dropping to her knees as though an invisible puppeteer had cut her strings. She bowed her head in both exhaustion and defeat, screwing her eyes shut in anticipation for her imminent demise.

"Kill me quickly." She goaded, though she felt at this point perhaps it was a false confidence, her mind racing back on all the faults in her life - images flashing so fast that her own memories began to blur.

"No." She heard, and that was it, he would not even grant her request, she would be tortured here as she was supposed to be in the woods when she was a girl, the man would tend her screams from her flesh inch by inch-

A sharp pain erupted from her skull, and her world turned to black. She thought in the haze of her dreams she may have hear the man day, "I will not kill a fine opponent."

\------

In the first rays of dawn, the figure sheathed both of his swords, dragging the woman he had fought under the cover of the ruins they had fought on, so that nothing untoward would happen to her whilst she remained unconscious.

As soon as he had done so, he quickly whirled around, sharp amber eyes finding the tracks of his prey even beneath the gauze masking his eyes.

He would find Prince Buttercup before the day's end.


End file.
